


A Tale As Old As Time

by Buckets_Of_Stars, Femalemarvelfanatic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Starker, Beast!Tony Stark, Beauty and the Beast AU, Belle!Peter Parker, Dad!Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gaston!Toomes, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Innocent Peter Parker, Iron Family, Kid!Peter Parker - Freeform, Magic elements, Manipulative!Toomes, No Romance, No Sex, No Slash, No Smut, Orphan!Peter Parker, Past Child Abuse, Peter Being Used For His Intellect, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Relationships, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Smart!Peter Parker, Son!Peter Parker, Tony Just Wants Peter To Be Safe, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Toomes Wants Peter For His Intellect NOT To Marry Him Because EW, Young!Peter Parker, cursed!Tony, fic collaboration, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femalemarvelfanatic/pseuds/Femalemarvelfanatic
Summary: A selfish man gets cursed into a metal suit, and only a little boy with a dark past and a heart of gold can break the curse. It’s a tale as old as time.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! We hope you enjoy the prologue and please feel free to let us know what you think! :D
> 
> Disclaimer: We don’t own Spider-Man, any related materials or Beauty and The Beast

Once upon a time, in a faraway land called New York, a young man, the owner of a company in the weapons business, lived in a shining tower. Although he had everything his heart desired, the man was spoiled, selfish, and greedy.

One day, after a demonstration in Afghanistan, he was kidnapped by the Ten Rings, a terrorist organization, and forced to make a bomb from scraps of his old inventions. 

Three months later, he finally escaped, using a metal suit that he had created in secret. When he arrived home, he held a press conference stating that his company would stop production on weapons effective immediately. However, his business partner was angry at the news and immediately started plotting against him.

One cold night, a young woman came to the tower and offered him an arc reactor in return for his word that his company would keep making weapons. The man refused and turned the woman away. But she warned him that his partner would betray him and take over the company if he didn’t do as she asked. 

When he dismissed her again, the young woman revealed herself to be an enchantress. The man tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no changing his mind. And as punishment, she cursed him into the same metal suit he had created to gain his freedom, and placed a powerful spell on the tower and all who lived there.

Ashamed of his metallic form, the man concealed himself inside his tower with an AI named J.A.R.V.I.S. as his only window to the outside world. The arc reactor she had offered was truly an enchanted reactor which would stay lit for ten years. 

If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the light went out, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain in the suit for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love an iron man?


	2. Chapter I

In the dull gray of early morning, Peter Parker walks through the city, heading toward the nearby electronics store, Lee’s Spider Web. Peter’s sneakers, busted and filled with holes from use, scrape against the dirty sidewalk and the thirteen-year-old picks up his feet as he moves.

Peter passes by a bar, making sure to keep his head down and his eyes lowered, flinching away from a burly man as he passes, the smell of cigars and alcohol following him like a cloud.

The young teen wrinkles his nose, kicking at a loose stone. He walks further, his reflection warping in shop windows as he goes.

On the next block, he passes by Wade’s Deli, his stomach rumbling. Shuffling his feet, the boy has just stopped near the display window when a man comes out, his hair graying and his face wrinkled. Peter freezes, eyes going wide and he takes a quick step back, hardly daring to breathe.

People don’t like it when street rats hang out around their businesses, especially when that rat is also an orphan. Peter knows this first-hand.

“Mornin’, boy,” the old man says just to be polite, pushing up his Yankees baseball cap with one calloused palm. His blue eyes are sharp as he glances over to where Peter still stands. “You gonna buy somethin’ today or just stand there with your mouth wide open?”

Peter has stopped at the deli every single morning since he arrived a year ago, when his aunt and uncle, who had raised him after his parents had died in a plane crash when he was six, had been killed in a robbery. He had then been moved from Queens to an orphanage in Manhattan.

He’s never bought anything however, his pockets usually empty besides some lint and a spare screw he had found on the ground a few yards back.

Peter didn’t want to be tempted to spend any of the little bit of money he received from doing chores at the orphanage. That money would only be used for materials for his science projects. Mr. Toomes only gave him so much a week, after all.

“No, sir. I need to save my money for Lee’s shop. I’m working on a new project! I saw an old news article about an inventor named Tony Stark, and there was a photo in it,” Peter continues breathlessly, too caught up in his idea to notice how the owner wasn’t even looking at him anymore. “Mr. Stark was posing with a robot that he had built and named Dum-E and-and I want to make a tiny version of that robot. A Dum-E Junior. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to—”

“Yeah, that’s nice,” the man interrupts, and Peter’s voice dies out as he frowns.

The owner, quickly pulling out his cellphone and making a call, turns back around to go into his shop, his face becoming increasingly red. Peter barely has time to say a quick “bye!” before he walks back inside, leaving Peter standing out there, feeling like an idiot.

The teen sighs and continues on his way, taking his time to cross the street and dodge around people. As he walks, he can hear them whispering, can feel their stares burn holes into his back.

“Oh, look, Parker’s coming. God, that kid’s so weird!”

“Yeah, he’s always tinkering with some new project and never talks to anybody. Not that anybody would _want_ to talk to _him_ , but still…”

“A friend of mine passed him on her way to school a few days ago, and swears Parker was talking to himself!”

“What a freak…”

Peter does his best to ignore them. God, he misses Queens. He’d had friends, and nobody ever made fun of him. Nobody had cared if he muttered to himself. They all just knew that he thought out loud while he was trying to solve a problem with his latest project.

When Peter finally makes it to his destination, he breathes a sigh of relief. He knows that he’ll get a few minutes of peace before he has to go back into the crowds.

“Hi, Peter!” the owner of the store, one of the few people in the city who seems to actually like him, says as the boy walks in. “How are you today, son?”

“Good morning, sir! I’m done with my latest project and I’m ready to start a new one. Do you have any new tech for me to try out?” Peter responds, looking around as he moves closer to the checkout desk.

“Not since you came by yesterday,” the older man chuckles.

Peter tries to hide his disappointment by smiling, his shoulders dropping.

“Oh.Well, that’s okay! I’ll buy—” He stops for a second to look at what’s available. “This!” He holds up a circuit board, the wires loose and dangling.

Peter starts to reach into his back pocket for his ratty, beaten up wallet. He had found it sitting on top of a trash can, completely empty, a few weeks ago. But Mr. Lee shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop the boy.

“Save your money, Peter. You can have that for free.”

“But, sir, I—”

“You’ve been coming to my shop every day for the last year. I reward that kind of loyalty here.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Peter waves happily, slipping the circuit board into his pocket. He then turns around, takes a deep breath, and goes back outside, squinting in the afternoon sun. As he walks, he takes out his purchase, and begins planning his project, ignoring the continued whispering he hears as he passes.

____________________________________

 

“There he is, Davis!”

“The Parker kid?”

“That boy is my ticket out of that damn orphanage!”

“But he’s—”

“The smartest boy in town!”

“I know, but—”

“And with his genius and one of his inventions, Norman Osborn will have to give me a job at his company! I’ll get the best position. And I deserve the best, right?!”

“Well, yeah, of course you do, Toomes, but—”

“It’ll be perfect! Shh, you blubbering fool, I need to speak to him.”

When Peter finally gets across the street from the orphanage, he hears his name being called, and turns around to see Adrian Toomes, the orphanage caretaker, and Aaron Davis, his nice but slightly dumb janitor, smiling at him. Peter barely suppresses a shudder.

He has always gotten a creepy vibe from Mr. Toomes ever since they met. Peter doesn’t know why he’s being called over, but he does know that whatever Toomes wants, it isn’t good.

The man always seems a little too interested in him but, thankfully, not in a sexual way. He just wants to know every single thing the thirteen-year-old can tell him about his latest project, down to the smallest detail, and always praises Peter on being his “little genius”.

Peter just wants the man to leave him alone.

Shifting his feet, the teen waits for the caretaker to approach, Davis a little behind him. Toomes smiles even wider the closer he gets, holding a hand out in Peter’s direction as though the kid was about to bolt.

Letting out a nearly silent sigh, Peter can only stand there and frown back.

“Hello there, Pete,” Toomes says, reaching over to rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “How’s my little genius doing?”

Peter just shrugs, resisting the urge to rip the man’s hand off of his arm. Toomes doesn’t seem to notice his reluctance, he only jostles Peter so the boy’s teeth chatter, his grip tightening. Davis laughs in the background.

“What have you been working on lately, son?” Toomes asks with a soft chuckle. “Anything interesting?”

“Nothing yet, uh, sir,” Peter answers, taking a step back from under the man’s grip. “It’s just in-in its planning stages.”

Toomes frowns. “But you at least have some idea of what you want to do next, right, Pete?”

Peter pauses for a second, then decides to lie so the man stops asking questions. He shrugs again and shakes his head. “Not really. I always just tinker until inspiration strikes.”

“Well, I’m sure I can come up with things for you to do to help get those creative juices flowing,” the man offers.

“No, thank you. I have some stuff that I’m already working on. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to get back inside so I can work. Please,” Peter says, wanting desperately to escape this conversation and get away from the caretaker.

“Of course, Pete! Of course!”

Toomes smiles down at Peter one last time before shuffling to the side, allowing the boy to walk quickly up the cracked concrete steps. Peter glances back, suppressing a shiver as Mr. Toomes and Davis stare up at him, and opens the door. He ducks inside just as they turn away.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Peter blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the moldy darkness of the orphanage. Hopefully now, Toomes will be too busy with all the other kids to talk.

 _Please, let him be too busy,_ Peter thinks as he slowly starts to climb the steps to the second floor, the splintered wood creaking underfoot.

Speaking of the other kids, Peter should go check on them, make sure they’re all safe and doing their homework, and help whoever needs it. He might not be the best at socializing but Peter knows his way around some textbooks. He learned from an early age that the more he knew about a subject, the less likely bullies were to come after him. If they wanted to pass their classes, they couldn’t go around punching their tutor.

Maybe he can even help to prevent the other kids from being bullied too, especially little Harley Keener.

Speaking of the younger boy, Peter finds him sitting on his bed, pencil in hand and an empty notebook in his lap, frowning down at his math textbook. He looks up as Peter walks into the room, reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes in frustration.

“I know you need math for science stuff, but I _hate_ math,” the boy groans, glaring at Peter as he comes to sit beside his foster brother. “I don’t understand why we have homework, Pete.”

“So you can learn stuff, and graduate the third grade at some point.”

Harley pouts. “But it’s boring.”

Peter laughs a bit, reaching over and grabs the other boy’s textbook. “Yeah well, so is having to repeat the third grade. Listen, little dude, if you don’t want to do that, you should learn this stuff the first time. Come on, I’ll help you.”

For the next few hours, Peter helps Harley with his math and then his English, allowing the younger kid to read his spelling words out loud. After a little while, some of the other orphans slip into the room, asking Peter for help that he is more than willing to provide.

A call for supper comes a little bit later, pea soup with potatoes and milk, and then changing time. Peter puts his night clothes on quickly, wanting to still be able to help out as many of the other kids as possible before lights out.

He makes it in just the nick of time.

By the time the last question is answered, the moon is settled in the sky and it’s bedtime for the youngest ones. Stifling a yawn, Peter carefully gets up from Harley’s bed and walks over to his own. He shivers as his now barefeet make contact with the cold floor.

“Peter?” one of the smaller kids, a boy named Ben, calls from his bed a few feet away. “Can you read us a story? Please?”

A chorus of pleads rises up from all sides and Peter can’t stop himself from chuckling a bit, knowing that being the oldest means staying up the latest, and also being in charge of story time. A harrowing feat if he does say so himself.

Quickly reaching under his bed and grabbing his old copy of _Winnie the Pooh_ , the teen makes himself comfortable against his headboard, angling the book so that the faint beams of moonlight illuminate the pages.

The younger boys love when Peter reads to them. He does a different voice for each of the characters, and even fakes a British accent for the narration. Within a few minutes, they all start to fall asleep, one by one.

Once Peter notices that the last boy is sleeping, he slowly puts down the book and gets out of bed. Looking around the room, he sees that several of the kids are sleeping in positions that have them practically about to fall out of their beds. Smiling softly, the boy goes around, rearranging the other kids’ bodies, and safely tucking them under the covers. He kisses each of their foreheads, backing away.

Ignoring the yawn that splits his jaw, Peter slips the circuit board he had bought from his jacket pocket into his pajama pants, and carefully makes his way out of the bedroom. He peeks his head out to check that the coast is clear.

Seeing no one, the teenager cautiously creeps down the dark hallway, reaching the end of it in a few seconds. By the pale light of the nearby window, the boy can just make out a long string hanging from the ceiling, a few inches above his head.

He reaches up, arms stretching, and tightly grips it, pulling down with a nearly silent grunt of effort. The door pops open, falling silently to the floor as Peter carefully lowers the stairs down.

Taking one last look around, the thirteen-year-old climbs the steps and disappears into the darkness above.

It take a second for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as Peter steps fully into the musty attic, he enters his secret laboratory/workshop. All of the furniture and equipment are things he found on the streets, so nothing matches, but they’re all sturdy and intact.

Walking over to the small window on the far wall, Peter takes out the circuit board and places it on the table underneath, and flips on the small desk lamp before sitting down. Squinting against the sudden bright light, the young boy opens a drawer on the right-hand side and pulls out a small notebook and begins to draw.

He begins with a rough circle, scribbling out a small sketch of the robot, a miniature version of Tony Stark’s Dum-E robot, that he wants to build, as it will look as a completed piece. Then, on the next page, he draws up blueprints.

Grinning in delight as the lines start to match up, Peter quickly grabs a rusted screwdriver from his shelf, beginning to take apart the circuit board, setting the wires to the side to use later. Fingers flying, he makes quick work of building the stand and attaching the spare grocery cart wheels he found a few weeks ago.

It isn’t until a few hours later, when the robot is almost finished, that Peter is broken out of his building haze by the sound of heavy footfalls coming from downstairs.

With a small gasp, the boy looks toward the window, feeling his blood go cold as the first rays of morning begin to turn the once dark sky a haze of light blue.

_Shit!_

Attempting to stuff the miniature Dum-E into the open drawer along with the gutted circuit board, Peter is just turning around to leave when he hears footsteps climbing up the ladder. He barely has time to take a step back before Toomes is in the room, his larger frame filling up the doorway.

“There’s my little genius,” the man says with a sharp grin, the whites of his eyes reflecting the golden glow of the lamp. “What were you doing up here, Pete?”

Peter swallows. “N-Nothing, sir.”

“Oh really?” Toomes asks, taking a step forward, forcing Peter to back up into the edge of the table. The wood digs into his back but the boy ignores the pain, his grip on his robot becoming painfully tight. “What do you got there, kid? Some sort of toy?”

“No,” Peter shakes his head. “No, it’s—”

But Toomes cuts him off, his voice a sneer. “Because we’ve talked about this, Pete. You can’t keep wasting your time playing with toys like a baby. Remember what we talked about, when you wanted to go to school last year?”

“Yes sir, y-you said I shouldn’t waste my talent on-on normal people or normal things, l-like games or toys, not like the-the other kids.”

Toomes nods, smiling again in approval. “That’s right, boy. You know, I’ve always let you do your own thing, creatively. Given you a lot of breathing room. So, give me the little toy or you can kiss your freedom goodbye.”

“But—”

“ _Peter_.” Toomes spits his name, barking it out like a curse. The boy jumps, moving to the side as the man reaches for him. “Give it to me now.”

But Peter holds his ground, standing up as tall as his small frame will allow. “I s-said no. It’s mine!”

The room goes cold as Toomes seems to blink in confusion, having never heard someone refuse one of his orders before, his icy-blue eyes boring into Peter like chilled knives. The boy shivers from the intensity.

“Oh,” the man whispers. “Is that how it’s going to be?”

Then, before Peter even has time to blink, the back of Toomes’s hand slams into his face.

The thirteen-year-old falls to his side from the force, his whole right cheek flaming in red hot pain as he cries out, catching himself just in time with his free hand. A cracking sound, one that sounds more like metal than flesh or bone, echoes in Peter’s ears as he lands. Looking up, his eyes slightly blurry with tears, Peter can just make out his caretaker’s face as the man reaches down.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” Toomes says, his voice mocking in fake disappointment. “Do you see what you made me do?”

“I made it,” Peter whimpers, gripping Mini Dum-E tighter. “It’s mine. _He’s_ mine.”

But his pleads fall on deaf ears. Toomes ignores Peter, ignores his hands as the boy attempts to push the man away, ignores the loud sobs that bubble up even when Peter tries to stop his tears.

But what Toomes can’t ignore is the pure death grip the boy has on his creation.

“Pete,” Toomes says through gritted teeth, his lips a pale white. “Don’t make me hit you again.”

But Peter doesn’t give him the chance. Gathering his limited strength, the teenager reaches out with his free hand and pushes the man. It’s not enough to do anything really, but it does surprise Toomes and he falters a bit, leans back just enough for Peter to shoot up and past him, holding Dum-E Junior tight against his chest.

The boy practically jumps down the steps of the ladder, ignoring the spike of pain that travels up his legs as his bare feet make contact with the hardwood floor. He can feel the surprised eyes of the other kids on his back but Peter doesn’t stop, pushing past Harley as the younger boy steps toward him.

“Peter, what—” he starts to ask, but Peter is already gone, dashing out the door and down the steps without a backwards glance.

The sound of Toomes screaming his name echoes through his ears long after Peter rounds the nearest corner and the orphanage disappears from sight.

For the next few hours, Peter walks around the city, around tall buildings and people who pay him no mind. His feet begin to ache, his heels feeling like they are on fire as he wanders around on the cement sidewalk, which gets hotter and hotter as the day progresses.

He passes by shop after shop. His stomach growls and cramps but he ignores the pain. He can’t risk stopping right now, not with Toomes somewhere out there, still looking for him. His fingers ache as he clutches Dum-E Junior closer to his chest.

Each step feels heavy, his shoulders drooping. Above him, dark clouds begin to form, spreading across the sky in a haze of black. The sun gets blocked after a few minutes, and Peter shivers as the breeze blows across his exposed arms.

But still, the boy doesn’t stop. He can’t, not until he comes up with a plan on how to survive outside of the orphanage.

The rain has just started, pouring down around him in bucket loads, when Peter sees it.

Stark Tower.

The frame is rusted, dented in places and completely broken down in others. Shrubs grow around the base, vines climbing up towards the tall, sun-bleached and soaking wet upper floors. The metal seems to bend in the wind, the rain thrashing against the side of the building and thundering as loud as Peter’s own heartbeat thumps in his ears.

It’s a perfect place to hide, at least for the night. At least to get out of the wind and the rain.

The boy is just contemplating whether or not he could use one of the vines to climb up to one of the more easily accessed floors that have a bit of ceiling still attached to provide cover from the elements, walking up closer to the side and peering up through the haze, when a sudden woosh causes him to jump a foot in the air.

The doors to the Tower are open, both of them.

Peter blinks and looks around, seeing no one but the creaking pipes and the slowly drowning plants. A flash of lightning zaps across the sky, as bright as a dying star. He shivers again, this time not only from the cold, but something he can’t quite name. His heart pounds in his chest.

 _Well_ , the boy thinks, taking a step forward toward the doors and wincing as his throbbing foot makes contact with slick mud and gravel. _That’s one way to get in._

With one last glance behind him, the rain running in ripples down his face, Peter sucks in a breath and walks silently inside the dark tower just as a boom of thunder breaks the air around him in half.


	3. Chapter II

The smell is what hits Peter first, startling him as he steps further into the building. It’s not one he’s expecting, no mildew or stale air burning his nose or the sharp taste of rust lingering in the back of his throat.

 

Nothing but floor polish and something distinctly sterile.

 

As soon as the doors snap shut behind him, Peter sees Stark Tower transform from a broken down, condemned building in ruins, into what it must have looked like when Tony Stark was at the peak of his popularity and fame.

 

It’s fast, as fast as the lighting still streaking across the black sky outside.

 

It starts with the floor directly under his feet, transforming from the cracked, outdated, yellowing and, in Peter’s opinion, ugly linoleum to shiny white-and-cream marble tile. It spreads outward in all directions, toward the walls. Then the very walls begin forming, as if a team of invisible stone mason workers are constructing them.

 

The thick layer of dust and debris that covers every inch of what remains of the tower lifts into the air and disappears out a broken window before it, too, repairs itself.

 

As the ceiling begins to fill in above him, Peter hears a noise coming from the far wall. He looks around and sees a gleaming elevator, both of its doors opening with a small _ding_. The teen blinks, confused.

 

Does the building want something from him? But that’s ridiculous! Buildings can’t _want things_ , right?

 

As he stands there trying to figure out what to do, lightning zips across the black sky again, and the reflection of the hot, white light hits the newly sealed marble floor. Peter jumps, clutches Dum-E Junior to his chest, and runs as fast as he can toward the elevator, not wanting to be struck by lightning.

 

Thankfully, he runs just before lightning strikes again and the resulting _boom_ of thunder causes his teeth to chatter and his hair stand up on end. The ceiling, when Peter finally makes it into the elevator and glances upwards, completes construction just as the doors snap closed.

 

Peter sighs, thankful that he’s safe, then squeaks in surprise. The elevator starts moving, and he can feel it going up quickly, without him having pushed any of the buttons. His stomach drops a little at the speed and he grabs onto the side railing with shaking fingers.

 

He looks over to where the panel should be to see what floor he’s being taken to, then blinks in shock. The panel _isn’t there_! The elevator is moving by itself. He holds his robot closer with his free hand and huddles in the corner, hiding his face in his arms and trying not to panic even more.

 

The elevator stops as suddenly as it had started and the doors open. Peter feels a little woozy at the sudden jolt and swallows against the feeling, taking a second to catch his bearings.

 

Finally feeling a little better, Peter looks up slowly, ready to hide his face again if he sees anything scary, holding out a shaking hand in a pitiful attempt at self defense. Seeing nothing alarming, the boy climbs to his feet, still holding the robot close, and takes a few steps out of the elevator, looking around cautiously.

 

A short hallway greets him, the walls a clean pale gray. The carpet is squishy under Peter’s shoes as he hesitantly walks further away from the relative safety of the elevator. Swallowing, the thirteen-year-old glances on either side of the hall, looking for something to tell him what the hell was going on.

 

He makes it into what looks like a living room, the New York skyline twinkling in the distance. Peter stops for a split second, studying the dark sky visible through the tall window across from him. A flash of lightning zips through the sky a few miles away, stretching like an electric spider web as it climbs through the clouds.

 

“Whoa,” he breathes out, taking a step forward.

 

He’s never seen a sight quite so beautifully frightening.

 

Sudden whispers, however, one hushed and the other slightly louder in excitement, cause the boy to freeze in his tracks, his eyes widening.

    

“Hello?” he calls, hesitantly. “A-Anyone there?”

 

Hopefully, the voices belong to people who are friendly. People who will be nice to him. And maybe give him some food and dry clothes. Maybe even let him take a little nap on the couch. Peter starts to feel sleepy after having wandered around all day, his legs trembling a little in both anxiety and exhaustion.

 

“There’s a kid in the tower. _Why_ is there a kid in the tower, Rhodey?” Peter hears someone whisper, but doesn’t see anything, except a digital clock on a small table next to the couch and a floor lamp beside it.

 

“Maybe he’s come to break the curse!” the other voice whispers excitedly. “The witch never said that it had to be _romantic_ love!”

 

“I’m sorry for just coming in,” Peter says, swallowing. “It’s just…I ran away, and it’s raining, and there’s lightning, and I needed somewhere safe to sleep. The doors opened by themselves when I walked up to the tower, and your elevator took me to this floor. I-I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”

 

Peter turns to go back to the elevator, his heart dropping. A voice, the same excited one as before, stops him again, however.

 

“Hey, kiddo!”

 

“What?! Who said that?!” Peter looks around frantically.

 

“Calm down! I’m over here! Next to the couch!” Peter looks back over and sees the lamp…waving? _What the...?_

   

“What? B-But how...? I mean, I don’t understand—” Peter cuts himself off with a sneeze, his body jolting.

 

Both the clock and the lamp seem to exchange a glance, before the lamp tilts a little closer, peering at Peter with bright eyes.

 

“Oh, you poor kid,” he says, his black shade seeming to frown as he hops a little closer. “Come on. Let’s go get you something else to wear so you don’t get sick.”

 

“I don’t think—” the alarm clock starts, but gets cut off.

 

Turning to look at his companion, the lamp waves the other away with one of his curved posts. “Good thinking, Happy! Go tell Pepper what’s going on. See if maybe she’ll make something for him to eat. He’s probably starving.”

 

The digital clock, Happy, tumbles off the table and waddles away on his tiny, padded feet, grumbling to himself the whole time.

 

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Rhodey asks once the clock is out the door.

 

“Oh, I-I’m Peter, um, sir,” the teen says, following the chatty lamp towards what looks like the laundry room.

 

“Well,” Rhodey says, tilting his shade in Peter’s direction. “It sure is nice to meet you, kid.”

 

Around thirty minutes later, after being given dry, warm clothes, the teen now sits at the kitchen table, kicking his feet. He eats a grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of chicken-and-stars soup that was made for him by a hologram named Ms. Potts, the woman having almost scared him half to death as she suddenly appeared.

 

She is sitting across from him at the table now, her transparent body a light shade of blue, while Rhodey and Happy are apparently setting up a guest room for him. Peter is still confused, but at least he is fed and dry. That’s the most he can ask for.

 

“After you eat, we should call your parents. We don’t want them to worry, right?” Ms. Potts asks when he’s finished eating, but Peter cuts her off with a shake of his head, eyes widening as he sets down his spoon.

 

“My parents died when I was six, and my aunt and uncle died last year. I, uh, I didn’t run away from _home_. I ran away from the _orphanage_ ,” he says in a rush.

 

Ms. Potts blinks. “Why?”

 

Peter pauses before speaking, swallowing against the fear that causes his chest to jump. “The caretaker, he-he was—”

 

The boy is cut off, however, by the loud _bang_ of the swinging kitchen door hitting the wall as someone walks in.

 

It’s a man, covered in a sort of red and gold armor, stomping his way towards the fridge and opening it with a whirl of machinery. Peter doesn’t even dare to breathe, sinking down further into his seat. A sudden crash of thunder shakes the Tower again and Peter feels the noise echo in his chest.

 

“Pepper?” the man calls, his voice scratchy and not as robotic sounding as Peter had expected. “Why didn’t you tell me we were out of milk?”

 

Pepper speaks up from her place at the table, her outline shimmering as she frowns and seems to barely hold back an eye roll. “I _did_ tell you. Multiple times.”

 

The man glances down, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right. Sorry, Pep. I’ve been a little preoccupied with the…” He looks back up and finally notices Peter.

 

His eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing as he glances from Peter’s frozen form to Pepper, before he snaps his jaw shut with an audible click. Swallowing, the metal man takes a step in Peter’s direction, the blue light in his chest flickering.

 

“And just who—” He stares down at Peter with an intense, dark gaze causes the boy’s legs to shake in slight fear. “—is _this_ , Ms. Potts?”

 

Pepper reaches out in Peter’s direction, but the boy jumps up before her translucent hand makes contact with his shoulder, pushing his chair back and nearly stumbling in his haste.

 

“I-I-I’m sorry, um, sir,” Peter mumbles, ducking his head as his face heats. He takes a few more steps back. “I can-can go, if you want? I’m so sorry, sir.”

 

“Stop calling me ‘sir’. It reminds me of my father. Call me… Call me Iron Man, kid.” The man— _Iron Man_ —looks back at Pepper with narrowed eyes. “Now, why is he here?”

 

Pepper stands up from the table and steps in front of Peter, giving him a small smile before facing the still frowning man, his face tinged blue as Peter peers through her transparent form. She crosses her arms, popping a hip out as she shakes a finger in the metal man’s direction.

 

“His name is Peter,” she says with a bit of heat. “And he is going to be our _guest._ ”

 

Iron Man tilts his head, the gears in his neck whirling. He crosses his arms as much as his burly body with allow, shifting on his feet. The blue circle thing on his chest flickers again and Peter’s eyes are instinctively drawn to it, his fingers itching to take it apart and explore how it works. Iron Man seems to notice his staring because he glares a little, crossing his arms tighter so that he covers the small light.

 

“But—” he starts to protest. However, one look at Pepper has him backtracking with a sigh. “Fine. He can stay, but just for tonight. I want him gone by morning.”

 

“Can I have a quick word with you in the living room, _sir_?” Pepper asks and Iron Man nods with a confused and annoyed frown.

 

With one last glance at Peter, both adults walk through the far doorway, their footsteps soft. Peter, after standing almost completely still for a few breathless seconds, takes a shaky step in the direction of the door, pressing his ear up against the wood with slight hesitation.

 

“Didn’t you look at him?” he can hear Pepper say, her tone clipped. “Did you see the bruises? His entire family is gone, and he ran away from the orphanage. Meaning that someone there was hurting him, so we _can’t_ let him go back!”

 

Iron Man seems to shrug, his metal parts whirling. “Just thought it was from some roughhousing, you know how boys are, Pep. How did he get in here, anyway? We have this place on full lock-down twenty-four hours a day. Not even _Fort Knox_ has better security!”

 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. let him in.”

 

“What?” Iron Man sucks in a gasp, and Peter frowns, leaning further against the wood as the man speaks, his voice soft. “But J.A.R.V.I.S. has never—”

 

“Never done that? I know. I’m just as confused as you are, but we know that it has to be for a reason. Let’s just…give it a few days, let the boy stay and heal, see if maybe the old butler has the right idea after all.”

 

Iron Man sighs. “What if he’s wrong, Pepper?”

 

“Well,” Pepper whispers. “Guess we will just have to wait and see.”

 

Both adults are silent for a long while after that and Peter leans back from against the door, feeling more confused than ever. The rain against the side of the tower starts up again, beating against the metal and glass like a gigantic drum.

 

Peter slumps against the door with a sigh. A sudden creak behind him, however, has the boy jumping a little, nearly hitting his face against the wood in his fright.

 

“Ah, there he is,” a familiar voice calls out and Peter smiles a little in relief as Rhodey hops into the room, with Happy hobbling a few feet behind him. “What’re you doin’, sleeping against the door, kid? Come on, me and old Hap here are gonna show you to your room.”

 

“It’s Harold to you, Rhodey,” the clock snaps, glaring at the lamp. “—and yes, come along, Peter. We don’t have all night.”

 

Following the two objects, Peter winces a little as his face throbs, Pepper’s words having reminded him of his bruises and the little robot he left sitting on the counter. Suddenly glad that Iron Man didn’t see his creation, the thirteen-year-old stuffs Dum-E Junior back into his pocket, quickening his pace as Happy stands in the doorway and taps his rubber foot.

 

They walk a few feet down a dark hallway, the walls bare. Reaching up with a curved arm, he clicks a switch on his nose. The lamp’s eyes seem to get brighter and illuminate the hall, the darkness now a cool gray. Peter swallows, looking up at his new friend.

 

“So,” Peter starts, clearing his throat as his voice cracks. “How did you—I mean, what did—I-I mean—”

 

“How did we all turn into furniture?” Rhodey finishes with a small laugh, his dark lamp shade rattling. “It’s okay, kid, you can say it.”

 

Peter exhales, blushing a bit. “Yeah, how did that happen?”

 

“Well, it’s a long story—”

 

“And one that we aren’t allowed to talk about,” Happy cuts his friend off, shooting the lamp a look as his numbers flash a darker red. “Now _stop_ , before you get us into trouble.”

 

“You mean, get _you_ in trouble. I don’t work for the boss man, Hap. That’s all you.”

 

“Exactly, which is why you should listen to me!”

 

Rhodey shrugs, as much as his lamp body will allow, leaning in closer to Peter as they round another corner. His bright eyes stare at the boy and Peter has to blink at the light, nearly bumping into a wall as they make another smaller turn.

 

“We were cursed,” Rhodey says simply, ignoring Happy’s huff of aggravation. “By a witch. We don’t know the full details, to be honest. The Tin Man you met earlier? Well, he loves to keep secrets.”  

 

Peter frowns. “Why don’t you just ask him then?”

 

“He won’t tell us,” Rhodey’s voice suddenly gets a little sad, choked up in a way Peter doesn’t fully understand. The light around them gets dimmer, and even Happy seems to wilt. “Not even _me_ , and I’m his best friend.”

 

They’re all quiet for a few minutes after that, Happy finally coming to a sudden stop a little ways down the hall. Seeming to shake himself, Rhodey flicks his light once, turning to Peter as the boy gives him a confused look.

 

“This is your room, Pete,” The lamp says, nodding towards the closed door near Happy. “We made sure it’s nice and cosy for you.”

 

Peter blinks as Happy opens the door, stepping through the threshold. “Thank you. That’s s-so nice.”

 

The sheer size of the room alone takes the boy’s breath away.

 

It’s at least three times bigger than his room in the orphanage, the ceiling seeming to reach up to the stars. Gasping, Peter turns in a small circle, taking in the sight of the biggest bed he has ever seen. Red satin sheets, fluffy pillows and a hand-carved headboard take up the whole back wall, facing a large window that reflects the sparkling New York skyline.

 

“And—” he whispers, turning to look back at Rhodey and Happy as they hop further into the room behind him. “—And this is all mine?”

 

Happy grunts, voice staticy. “That’s right, kid. We put some pajamas out for you, on the bed. We weren’t sure of your size so we borrowed some from the boss.”

 

Peter just nods, going over to the bed and picking up the clothes. He takes a second to gently run one hand across the sheets, the fabric as soft as a cloud. He yawns, turning back around to face the objects, holding the night clothes in clenched fists.

 

“Is there any way to end the curse?” Peter asks suddenly, wanting to help them if he could. He didn’t know what he could do, not really, but at least he could try. “And could you guys, um, maybe—”

 

“Oh!” Rhodey says, both him and Happy immediately turning around so that the boy could get changed. “Sorry, bud.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter says, tugging on the soft cotton shirt and sweatpants. They are both _way_ too big, hanging off of his shoulders, covering his hands and tripping his feet, but the teen doesn’t care. “Is there, though? Any way to end the-the curse, I mean?”

 

“There is,” Rhodey admits reluctantly, facing Peter again once he gives the okay. “But it isn’t something you need to worry about. Your only job, at least for tonight, is to go to sleep.”

 

The lamp gently guides Peter into the bed and covers him with the blanket, Happy bouncing a little closer. The boy has just snuggled deeper under the covers, yawning, when a sudden thought causes him to snap back awake.

 

“Oh, wait!” The boy climbs out of bed, nearly tripping over his too-big pants and stumbles over to his old clothes, searching for Dum-E Junior throughout the pockets.

 

Finally, the teen finds the small robot, and smiles in slight relief. He walks back over to the bed, the carpet soft under his bare feet. 

 

“Who’s your friend?” Happy asks gruffly from his place on the floor as Peter places the robot on the nightstand, turning the claw so that his creation has a nice view of the outside skyline.

 

“That’s Dum-E Junior,” Peter says, getting back into bed with a yawn. “I saw a photo of Tony Stark with a robot that he made and named Dum-E, and I want to be an inventor like him when I grow up, so I built Junior. I wish I could have met Mr. Stark, but he disappeared or died a few years ago.” Peter pauses, frowning a little. “The articles I found were never clear on that.”

 

Shaking his head, the boy lays back down and closes his eyes with a smile, satisfied that his robot was safe once more. With his eyes closed, the teen misses the startled look Rhodey and Happy shoot each other, his mind already halfway to dreamland.

 

“Kid—” Rhodey starts, but gets interrupted by Happy.

 

“We’ll talk to Iron Man. Maybe he’ll let you look around his workshop. Good night, Peter,” the clock says, clearing his throat as he starts to back out of the room.

 

“Okay,” Peter mumbles, excitement and exhaustion fizzing in his veins, flipping over onto his side and nuzzling into his pillow. “G’night, Mr. Happy, and g’night to you too, Mr. Rhodey.”

 

“Sleep well, kid,” Rhodey says softly.

 

The sound of the two objects leaving, their small feet tapping against the carpet as they continue to whisper furiously to each other, is the last thing Peter hears before he succumbs to the cool darkness of sleep.


	4. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! We are so freaking sorry for the long wait! Real life got crazy and we just became insanely busy. But we are back now and hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for being so patient and please don't hesitate to tell us what you think! :D

* * *

Framed by a sudden spark of lightning, Harley steps back in shock and fear as the doors to Stark Tower close behind his foster brother.

 

The young boy stands on the dirty sidewalk, blinking against the pounding of the rain overhead, his heart in his throat. He had followed Peter since the teen had run off, had trailed behind the older boy like a tiny shadow, watching as his friend ducked around people and skidded across busy streets.

 

Harley had thought about calling out to him, but the memory of Peter slamming into him, of the anger and fear reflected in the other boy’s dark eyes, stalled the words in Harley’s throat.

 

Now, however, as he stands in the rain and shivers from cold, exhaustion, and fear, Harley wishes with everything in him to get the chance once again.

 

Shaking his hair from his eyes, the eight-year-old takes a second to study the worn-down tower above him, watching as streams of water wash down the broken metal and glass. A car passes by, it’s headlights illuminating the darkness in a haze of gold, before it, too, gets swallowed up by the rain and fog.

 

Swallowing against his fear, Harley turns and runs through the rain as fast as his legs can carry him back to the orphanage, his sneakers stomping through puddles.

 

Bursting through the heavy door, the boy ignores the stares the other kids shoot him, instead heading straight to Mr. Toomes’s office, dripping water and mud all over the floor.

 

“Help!” he yelled as he pounds against the closed door. “Please, s-sir, help me!”

 

Harley hears what sounds like a muffled curse before the door is pulled open, Toomes’s face wrinkled in an annoyed frown as he glares down at the boy. His eyes soften a bit, however, when he catches sight of Harley’s tear-streaked face. Davis, still sitting at a large desk, peeks around the man’s body, his dark eyes widening at the sight of the kid.

 

“Come in, boy,” Toomes says, gesturing over to an empty seat. “Sit there—why are you _wet_? Never mind. _Stand_ over here.”

 

Leaning against the director’s desk, Harley lets out another nearly silent sob, shivering.

 

“Shhh, it’s okay, kid. Can you tell me what happened?” Davis asks as he stands and walks over to the child, bending down to his eye level.

 

Toomes take a seat at his desk, his sharp eyes never steering away from Harley’s red face. Glancing at the director, Harley swallows.

 

“It’s Peter. He-He’s been kidnapped by the Stark building!” he says in a rush, twisting his fingers together so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “It sw-swallowed him, sir. I watched it happen!”

 

“Kidnapped…by a building?” Toomes repeats skeptically, raising an eyebrow as he leans further back against his chair.

 

“Yeah! Please, Mr. Toomes, y-you gotta help me save him!” Harley begs, eyes wide.

 

“Ok, kid. We’ll help you,” Davis soothes, stepping closer to the pair and gently placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harley. Mr. Toomes and I will find Peter. Let’s get you back to your room, okay?”

 

“You promise?”

 

Toomes smiles, reaching over his desk to ruffle Harley’s still damp hair. “Kiddo, when have I ever lied to you? Now, go get cleaned up, alright? We can’t find Pete if you get sick, can we?”

 

Harley nods, relieved that the adults will help his foster brother. Following behind Davis as the man leads him out of the office, the boy risks glancing back at Toomes. The director gives him a smile and a thumbs up that Harley hesitantly returns.

 

He’ll let Mr. Toomes deal with the major stuff for now. The only thing Harley can really do is wait.

 

* * *

 

After painstakingly tucking the boy back in bed, Davis walks back to his boss’s office with his usual swagger.

 

“Harley must _really_ miss Parker, if he’s having nightmares about him being kidnapped by a building. They’re really close,” he says as he enters, sitting down in the hard plastic chair he had occupied earlier with a sigh.

 

Toomes is silent for a few seconds. Drumming his long fingers against the wood of his desk, the man purses his lips in thought.

 

“Yes,” he whispers. “They are, aren’t they? Say, Davis, I think I might have a plan to get our dear little genius back.”

 

“Your ‘plans’ have a history of not ending well for me,” the janitor muttered, rubbing at his forehead with a hand.

 

Toomes just grins, his form all sharp and angular, hunching down over his desk like a predator stalking his prey. His eyes hold a glint that Davis both fears and admires.

 

“Oh, I know,” the man snaps, his grin wicked. “Now shut up, you fool, and listen closely...”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Peter wakes to the sound of someone gently tapping on his door.

 

“Peter? Are you awake?” a familiar voice calls through the wood, slightly muffled.

 

The boy sits up, rubbing his dry eyes with a fist. He yawns and gives himself a tiny shake, pushing his hair from his eyes.

 

“Yes, Ms. Potts,” he answers, grinning.

 

He gets out of bed, and walks across the soft carpet. Shivering a little, he slowly opens the door, revealing the hologram, and a small, chipped coffee mug by her feet. Pepper’s form glitches for a second, before she straightens up and flashes the boy a sparkling smile.

 

“Good morning! I thought you might like some breakfast and a hot chocolate,” she says, not even bothering to move to the side as a cart, which is holding a plate of food, pushes past Peter with a small bump against his side.

 

“Whoa,” Peter breathes, watching with wide eyes as the cart comes to a stop near his bed. “Is-Is this all for me?”

 

“Of course!” Ms. Potts says. “ _I_ certainly can’t eat it.”

 

“Thank you.” Peter smiles at her.

 

“You’re welcome.” She’s quiet for a moment, then suddenly startles, her eyes widening. “Oh! This is my son, Charlie, but everybody calls him Chip.” She looks down at her feet, where the little cup still rests. “Ok, Chip! Give Peter his drink! Be careful! Don’t get any on the carpet!”

 

“Hi!” the cup says when he’s close enough, grinning up at Peter, the crack on his rim facing the boy. “Wanna see a trick?”

 

Peter nods as he picks up the cup, and takes a small sip. Chip wiggles a bit, before holding his breath and making air bubbles appear in Peter’s drink. Peter laughs as chocolate splatters on his nose, grinning and wiping away the warm liquid with the hem of his shirt.

 

“ _Charles_!” Pepper scolds her son, frowning.

 

Chip lowers his eyes, squeaking. “Oops! Sorry, Mommy! Sorry, Peter!”

 

Ms. Potts sighs before turning back to Peter. The boy gently sets Chip down on the cart, watching as the little mug hops along the plate.

 

“I heard that you asked if there was anything you could do to help us,” the A.I. says softly and Peter glances back up at her, blushing a bit under her gentle stare. “That was very kind and _very_ brave of you. We all think so. Even Iron Man.”

 

The teenager smiles shyly. “I wasn’t trying to be brave. You’ve all been so nice to me. Nicer than anyone has been since…” He pauses, swallowing. “I just want to try t-to help you get rid of this curse, if I can.”

 

“Well, thank you for offering, Peter. It means the world to us.”

 

Peter flinches as Pepper gasps suddenly. The boy watches as she turns around, her form shimmering in a blue glow.

 

“Why am I spending the morning talking when there’s work to do?” she mutters, more to herself then to Peter. Turning back toward the teen, she smiles again, the expression a little strained. “Iron Man expects to see you in the kitchen for lunch at one o’clock, but you have the morning to yourself. You live here now, so you can go wherever you want, except for his private workshop.”

 

Peter frowns in confusion, tilting his head. “But Mr. Happy said he’d talk to Iron Man about letting me look around his workshop.”

 

Pepper shakes her head, frowning. “He has more than one. He probably meant one of the others. No one’s allowed in his private lab.”

 

“What’s in the private one?” Peter asks, causing her to freeze.

 

“Nothing important,” she replies after a moment of hesitation, walking quickly back toward the door, calling over her shoulder. “Just don’t go in there. Please. Come on, Chip!”

 

“Bye!” the small cup says, smiling up at Peter before hopping off the cart and following his mom.

 

* * *

 

At the same time, across town, Adrian Toomes is sitting in his office, his cell phone held up to his ear. He frowns at nothing in particular, tapping one agitated hand against the desk in front of him. On the other end of the line is Norman Osborn, owner of the renowned Osborn Incorporated.

 

“Mr. Osborn?” Toomes says as soon as the other man answers, clearing his throat a bit. “This is Adrian...Adrian Toomes, sir.”

 

Norman seems to shift back in his own office chair, the sound of the expensive leather squeaking over the phone and Toomes grits his teeth. “Is that supposed to mean something to me? You do realize that I am a very busy man, Mr. Tims?”

 

Toomes’s grip on his phone tightens. “It’s _Toomes,_ actually. And I’m calling to ask for a favor, sir. It’s about one of my foster kids, Peter Parker. He was kidnapped last night.”

 

Norman doesn’t seem surprised. “And this has to do with me because?”

 

“Well, I can only assume that whoever took him wants something from me, and thinks that using Peter is the only way to get it.” Toomes shakes his head a bit, leaning more fully against his chair. “No, sir, no ransom demand. Everyone loves Peter, so of course we’re all extremely upset, especially little Harley Keener.”

 

This seems to catch at least a bit of the other man’s attention and Osborn cuts in. “The kid with the weird obsession with potato guns my son Harry was telling me about? He’s one of yours?”

 

Toomes nods, grimacing a little. “Uh, yes, sir. He’s been talking about Peter being kidnapped by the Stark building. Nonsense, really. You know how kids are.”

 

The silence on the other end is deafening and Toomes clears his throat. “Yes, well…we think he saw the last few seconds of Peter being taken by someone who worked in that building.”

 

“And you believe him, Mr. Tims?” Osborn’s voice seems to be caught somewhere between amused and disgusted and Toomes digs his nails into his palms. “Are you sure he isn’t _challenged_ in some way?”

 

“He’s eight-years-old, sir, so I think it’s more his overactive imagination than anything _mentally_ wrong with him.”

 

“Did he see the person? Do you have anything else to go by besides the crazy ideas of a little boy with obvious issues and an attention span the size of a pebble?”

 

Toomes’s nails continue to bite into his palms and the man has to count to ten before answering, standing up from his chair and moving toward the small window on the back wall. He squints in the bright morning sun.

 

“No, he wasn’t able to give me a description of the person, or even the gender,” the director said after a moment, wincing a little at the obvious annoyed sigh that breaks through the crackling speaker.

 

“Can’t you call the police? I have more important things to deal with than some charity case and his little foster bastards.”

 

“I can’t, sir.” Toomes shakes his head again. “The kidnapper left a note on Peter’s bed, and they threatened to kill Peter if I involve law enforcement.”

 

The white lie slips from the man’s lips and Toomes nearly cackles at his own wit and quick thinking. He bites his tongue though, instead focusing on Osborn as the other man makes a contemplative noise.

 

“Why did you call me, Mr. Tims?”

 

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Toomes swallows. “Well, he’s a genius, sir. Peter, I mean. He’s a literal child prodigy and I was just thinking, as long as you agree, of course, that once we find him, he could be of use to you and your company.”  

 

Osborn gives a small grunt of disbelief. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

 

“I could show you, sir.” Running a hand over his head, Toomes begins pacing once more. “He has a little lab up in the attic—nothing much really, just some stuff he dug out of the dumpsters—but the things he can create with those materials, sir? Pure genius. I was just thinking, if he can create such amazing things with pieces of trash, what sort of stuff can he make with the real deal?”

 

“How would we find him? The boy’s...what? Ten-years-old?”

 

“Thirteen, sir.”

 

Osborn’s voice is gruff. “Right, right.”

 

Toomes tries to not let his enthusiasm get the best of him, attempting to keep his voice as steady as possible even as his insides are vibrating with adrenaline. Everything’s working out perfectly.  

 

“And I thought that if I could have a small press conference, I could make some kind of appeal for Peter’s safe return, and offer a reward to anyone with information that leads to the kidnapper's arrest. Could you…I mean, would you sponsor it?”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Well, I know that you have connections, sir, so I was hoping you could help me set everything up? If that wouldn’t be much trouble?”

 

The hesitant agreement from the other end of the line is the best thing Toomes has heard in a long time.

 

“Would, uh, would this afternoon be enough time?”

 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Suddenly, Osborn’s voice goes quiet, a deadly whisper that sucks a little of Toomes’s excitement from his veins. “And Mr. Tims? You had better make this brat worth this because if he’s not? Well, let’s just say I have my own ways of dealing with pests.”

 

Toomes nods even though the other man can’t see him, swallowing as an icy jab of fear makes his skin prickle. “Y-Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you, I really appreciate this.”

 

“I’ll be there at three o’clock. Watch for a black limo.”

 

“I will.”

 

Osborn hangs up before Toomes can say anything more. Breathing out a harsh sigh as he finally collapses back into his old wooden chair, the director shudders, once, ridding himself of his leftover adrenaline and anxiety.

 

By the time Davis knocks on his door and enters, his familiar laid-back smile in place, Toomes knows exactly what he must do.

 

* * *

 

 

That afternoon, Toomes is standing at a podium in front of the Oscorp building, with Davis and Osborn behind him and Harley at his side, telling the world about Peter’s “kidnapping”.

 

“...and we are all just so, so heartbroken,” Toomes says, looking into the camera set up in front of the stand with what he hopes is his best pleading expression. “Hopefully, with all of your generous help, we are able to find Peter and bring him home.”

 

Osborn just stands next to him, his blue eyes betraying no emotion as he stares into the now somber crowd of news reporters and civilians.

 

After a few more questions, Toomes is about to end the press conference when Harley suddenly reaches up and tugs on the sleeve of his suit jacket. Clearing his throat, he bends a little to talk to the boy, the normally hyper kid’s serious brown eyes peering up at him.

 

“What is it, son? You okay?” Toomes asks kindly, reaching out to place a careful hand against the foster boy’s boney shoulder.

 

“Can I talk to Peter?”

 

“He isn’t here, buddy.”

 

Harley nods. “I know, but maybe he can still hear me.”

 

“Okay. Give me a second.” Toomes straightens back up and turns to the reporters, watching as their faces soften. “Peter’s foster brother, Harley Keener, would like to say a few words, in case Peter’s listening.”

 

Harley holds on tight to Toomes as he’s lifted into the air and placed on the caretaker’s hip so he can speak into the microphone. “Go ahead, kid.”

 

“Hi,” he says shyly to the reporters, leaning into the microphone, his voice cracking in the loudspeaker. “Peter? It’s m-me, Harley. I miss you! Please come back!”

 

Toomes just smiles, a wicked, cracked grin. Oh yes, everything is going perfectly.

 

* * *

 

“Where is he?” Iron Man growls, on the other side of Manhattan, when Peter is over half an hour late for lunch. “Why isn’t he here?!”

 

No one responds to that, and he resumes his pacing in front of the double-oven. His boots clang against the ground, shaking the floor. The utensils hanging above the stove shake in time with each of his angry steps.

 

Happy sighs from his place on the counter, the numbers on his clock face seeming to blink faster in his annoyance. “I’m gonna go check on the kid. It was late when we took him to his room last night, so maybe he got lost or something.”

 

He hops off in search of the boy, grumbling to himself the whole time.

 

“Tony? Do you think maybe this kid might be able to end the curse?” Rhodey asks gently as he can, knowing that the curse is a sore subject for his friend.

 

Hopping from his place near the toaster, the lamp gently leans against the metal man’s arm.

 

“Of course I do!” Tony snaps, ripping his arm away from Rhodey with a growl. “I’m not an idiot!”

 

Rhodey deflates a little before forcing himself to straighten up. “Great! So, after lunch, we’ll start the adoption papers for Peter and everything will be back to normal by dinner!” Rhodey’s light brightens in happiness.

 

“No, it won’t.” Pepper shakes her head, standing up from where she was sitting in one of the island chairs, her blue form shimmering. “Adopting a kid takes _months_!It took almost a year for Happy and me to adopt Chip.”

 

“But we don’t _have_ that kind of time! The light on the reactor is already flickering!”

 

Pepper opens her mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the kitchen door opening. With a small grunt, Happy makes his way back up to the countertop, scowling as all eyes in the room follow his slightly uncoordinated climb.

 

“Hi,” Happy grumbles once finally settled, turning toward Tony with a wince. “So, the kid is…” He sighs. “Well, he’s not coming.”

 

“Fucking _excuse_ me?!” Tony demands, eyes widening as his face twists even more in anger. “Yeah, no. _Not_ an option.”

 

He stalks out of the kitchen, and down the hall to Peter’s room. Letting out another mechanical growl, the metal man lifts up one hand and bangs on the door.

 

“Kid! Lunch!” he shouts through the wood. “Kid!”

 

“I’m not hungry!” Tony rolls his eyes at the muffled yell he gets in response.

 

“Don’t care. Come eat!”

 

“I said I’m not hungry!”

 

“And I said I don’t care. You’re eating lunch with me! _Now_ , Peter!”

 

“No!”

 

“Please, boss.” Happy’s sudden voice startles the man and Tony turns to see all of his friends standing behind him, their faces displaying varying degrees of concern and slight annoyance. “ _Try_ to be patient.”

 

“But he’s being a—” He raises his voice a bit and glares at the door. “— _problem child_!”

 

“Calm…calm…” Pepper soothes, shifting a little as her glowing form shimmers. “Be calm.”

 

“Will you come eat lunch?” Tony asks through the door, gritting his teeth.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Happy reminds him under his breath.

 

“Please.” Tony rolls his eyes.

 

“No, thanks!”

 

“Fine!”  the genius snaps. “Then no meals until you drop the attitude and do what I say!”

 

He stomps away, missing the way all of his family’s eyes follow him down the hall and watch as he storms through the door to the living room.

 

“Well,” Pepper sighs as soon as the metal man is out of earshot. “That went horribly.”

 

Both Rhodey and Happy nod in agreement, hopping after her as she makes her way back to the kitchen

 

“I guess we should go clean up,” Happy says with another sigh. “Come on.”

 

That night, Peter still doesn’t come out of his room to eat dinner with Tony, which results in another yelling match through the closed door. By the time their screaming session is done, Tony is too angry to eat and Peter appears to be too upset to even answer the door.

 

After the uneaten food is put away and everything is clean, the three remaining friends gather around the living room and talk quietly.

 

“Come on, Chip,” Pepper says, gently waking up her son from where he lay napping on the table. “Bed time!”

 

“I’m not tired, Mommy,” he tries to argue through a yawn.

 

Pepper smirks, nudging the still-yawning cup as he blinks up at her. Chip protests quickly die off as his mom guides him out of the room, his complaints of not being tired fading as both mother and son exit the kitchen.

 

“You know, I think the kid was just being stubborn at lunch today. But to not show up for dinner either? That’s just rude,” Happy says to Rhodey, looking over at his friend from where he rests near the couch.

 

“I know,” the lamp agrees, nodding as much as his shade will allow. “But Tony _has_ to learn to control his temper or we’ll never be human again.”

 

They turn to the door when it creaks open, thinking Pepper is back, but instead they see Peter standing in the doorway and looking sheepish. His doe eyes widen as he catches sight of the two magical items and the boy freezes in his tracks.

 

“Hi,” he squeaks out, face turning a dark shade of red.

 

“Hey, kid,” Rhodey says, taking a small step toward the still shaken boy. “Are you okay? You’ve been in your room all day.”

 

“Yeah,” the boy nods, giving the lamp a small smile. “I’m fine. I’m just kinda hungry.”

 

“Well, of course you are! You haven’t had anything since breakfast,” Ms. Potts says from behind him, having walked into the room right after him. The boy jumps a bit. “Come on, Peter. Let’s find you something to eat.”

 

“But—” Happy begins to argue, but the glare the A.I. sends him shuts him up quick.

 

 _“I don’t_ _care_ what he said,” she snaps. “I’m not going to let a kid starve, Harold! What if it was _Chip_?”

 

The clock sighs, knowing grudgingly that his wife is right but not ready to admit it.

 

“Fine. He can have water and some bread.”

 

“Happy! He’s a _guest_ , not a prisoner!” Rhodey says, his bulb flickering once. “He’ll get a full meal, or at least leftovers.”

 

The clock sighs. “Fine, I’ll go get him a plate...”

 

“I’m sorry for not coming down for lunch, o-or dinner,” Peter says softly as he eats his mashed potatoes and chicken a few minutes later. “It’s just…you remember that robot I brought with me?”

 

The boy waits until each object in the room nods, swallowing another bite and taking a quick sip of water.

 

“Well, he broke right before I r-ran away from the orphanage and I was determined to fix him before I ate. I always keep a small toolkit in my jacket, just in case.” Peter frowns down at his dinner, guilt churned his stomach. “That’s why I kept refusing. I wasn’t trying to be a-a ‘problem child’!”

 

Rhodey huffs in annoyance. “Why didn’t you just _say that_ when To— _Tin Man_ was demanding that you come eat?”

 

Peter hesitates before answering, taking another bite of his green beans. “The orphanage caretaker, Mr. Toomes, he-he thought my robot was a toy, and he said that I shouldn’t waste my time with toys, or ‘regular kid’ activities. Or even school. He said I was too smart for that, and always called me his ‘little genius.’”

 

“That guy sounds like a creep,” Happy mutters, and Peter nods in agreement.

 

“Yeah, he is.” Peter shutters a bit. “He tried to take Dum-E Junior away, so I was afraid that if I told Iron Man about him that he would try to take him away, too.”

 

Ms. Potts shakes her head, her blue outline flickering. “Iron Man isn’t like that. He’d love to see your robot. He might even help you fix him up, if you ask.”

 

Peter shrugs, frowning. “Maybe. But I don’t think he likes me very much.”

 

“Give him time,” Ms. Potts says, reaching over to rest one cool hand against his arm. “He will eventually.”

 

“Right! But for now, bed time, kid!” Happy’s numbers flash off and on, reminding everybody how late it is.

 

“But it’s only ten!” the boy protests, turning his eyes pleadingly to the lamp still sitting beside him. “I’m allowed to stay up until twelve on weekends!”

 

“Okay. You can stay up, just remember that there are other people here, who are trying to sleep, so you have to stay quiet,” Rhodey agrees, ignoring the glare Pepper sends his way.

 

“I’ll remember,” Peter promises, grinning for the first time that night.

 

“And don’t go into the private lab,” Ms. Potts reminds him, shaking a finger in his direction. “Ever.”

 

“I don’t even know where it is,” the boy says innocently.

 

“It’s on the floor right under this one,” Happy says, and Peter nods.

 

“Harold!”

 

Happy winces as Pepper shoots him a fiery glare. “What, honey? He needs to know for emergencies.”

 

“Yes, but...”

 

Fearing another argument, Peter excuses himself and begins to make his way back to his bedroom. He pauses as he gets to the doorway, turning around and saying a quick goodnight to the objects. The three cursed friends say goodnight to him as well, and leave the room, Pepper and Happy still bickering and Rhodey laughing.

 

The teenager waits a minute to see if any of them will come back, then turns and walks to the elevator.

 

 _Wait_ , Peter thinks as soon as he gets to it. _How do I get this thing to open so I can get in if there aren’t any buttons to push? And then how do I get it to move? Okay, okay. I’m smart. I can figure this out._

 

The boy starts tapping on the wall on either side of the elevator, thinking that there might be a hidden panel or button that will appear if he hits the right spot. After twenty minutes, the teen gives up and sighs in annoyance.

 

 _Okay. Time to go to Plan B. When there’s a fire, it isn’t safe to get in an elevator, so there have to be stairs, right? All I have to do is find them!_ Peter looks around the hall. _The stairs should be pretty close to the elevator._

 

Sure enough, at the end of the hall is a door with a sign reading ‘ _Stairs_ ’. The boy glances around, making sure he won’t get caught. Seeing no one, he runs to the door and goes through, then walks down the steps as quietly as he can. His footsteps echoed in the silent stairwell and Peter shivers a bit.

 

Soon, he gets to the door reading ‘ _Floor 92_ ’, the floor that Happy said Iron Man’s private lab is on.

 

“Wow,” Peter whispers to himself when he enters the floor and looks around, his eyes wide in wonder and excitment.

 

Apparently he’d misunderstood the clock when he said the private lab was on the floor below the penthouse. It isn’t just in a _room_ on this floor, but the _entire floor_. Every wall that isn’t load-bearing has been removed and almost every inch of the floor is covered by machines, half-finished inventions, or a robot, including what looks like a life-size replica of Tony Stark’s Dum-E.

 

The robot whirls a little as Peter steps further into the room, seeming to stare at him with its twisting claw. The teen decides to leave it be for now.

 

Making his way over to the back wall, Peter’s heart drops a bit at the sight of a small framed photo of a couple holding a baby.

 

Peter smiles sadly, remembering his parents. His aunt and uncle had brought all of his parents’ things when he had moved in with them, but he hadn’t been able to take any of it with him to the orphanage, so all of the photos were long gone.

 

He sighs, glances down, and sees a newspaper clipping partially—well, okay, _mostly_ —hidden under a toolbox. He slowly slides it out, being careful not to accidentally tear it. But before he can see more than the foot of someone in a suit, Peter’s shoulder is grabbed and he’s being spun around roughly.

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing in here?” Iron Man yells, his dark eyes blazing in anger. “I _know_ that Pepper told you to stay out of my private workshop. Why didn’t you _listen_?”

 

“I—” Peter starts to say, to defend himself, but finds that he can’t. The words stick in his throat and he swallows as he starts to tremble. “I-I’m sorry—”

 

“ _Get out_!” the man bellows, pointing behind him to the elevator. “Don’t _ever_ come back!”

 

Peter jumps in fright and runs as fast as he can toward it, the doors opening as he gets closer.

 

“Get him out of here, J,” Iron Man orders, voice firm and clouded in fury.

 

Once Peter is in the lobby, he runs for the front door, which also opens for him with a woosh. Walking outside, and wondering where to go that _isn’t_ the orphanage, the boy stops suddenly, blinking in the glare of headlights from cars that are heading home for the night.

 

Across the street, news vans and reporters with their camera crews line the cracked sidewalk. Curious, Peter walks to the curb on the other side and tries to hear what they’re saying, ducking behind a nearby trash can.

 

“Good evening,” a middle-aged woman is saying, facing a large camera as she holds a microphone up to her mouth. “This is Christine Everhart with WHIH Newsfront, reporting live outside the ruins of Stark Tower, formerly owned by Anthony Stark.”

 

Peter gasps a bit at the mention of his childhood hero, eyes widening even further as the woman continues.

 

“Earlier today, Mr. Adrian Toomes, caretaker of a boys’ orphanage here in Manhattan, gave a press conference stating that one of his foster children, thirteen-year-old Peter Parker, had been kidnapped—”

 

Peter takes a stumbling step forward, trying to hear her better and is suddenly grabbed around the waist. He lets out a small grunt of panic, beginning to struggle but a surprisingly gentle metal hand covers his mouth and the boy’s cries grow silent.

 

“Come on, kid,” Iron Man whispers, his voice more metallic as he speaks through a gold and red colored helmet and face mask. “Come back inside before those _wolves_ see you.”

 

Peter swallows. “Why? You told me to leave.”

 

“Yeah. You’re right. I did.” The metal man groans, as though in pain, but quickly recovers, speaking sincerely for the first time since Peter got to the Tower. “Look, I’m sorry, kiddo. I was just angry that you were someplace you shouldn’t have been. I didn’t mean it. Now, please, come back in before they spot you and send you back to Toomes.”

 

 _He’s right. I can’t go back there,_ Peter thinks and nods.

 

Iron Man gently takes his shoulder, but before they can get inside, they’re stopped by the sudden shout of a reporter.

 

Within a few seconds, they’re surrounded on every side. Reporters press in close, shoving microphones in their faces, and shout questions at them, each trying to be heard over the rest. Peter takes a step back in fear, bumping into Iron Man as his entire body shivers.

 

The man bends a little and whispers in his ear, his voice an odd comfort to the boy, “Put your arms around me, kid, and hold on tight. I’m going to get us back inside.”

 

Peter does as he’s told, and Iron Man lifts them into the air, but they don’t get very high. They both look down in confusion. The reporters are reaching up and pulling them down, damaging the suit in the process with their grasping hands. By the blue light of Iron Man’s repulsors, their eyes glow, pupils glazed in neon. Peter shivers at the sight.

 

“Okay. Time for Plan B,” Iron Man mutters, annoyed, kicking away a man when he attempts to climb up the metal man’s leg. “Stay behind me, buddy.”

 

As soon as they’re back on the ground, Iron Man turns to face all the reports with his hands raised, palms facing outward, and the repulsors ready to fire.

 

“I’m only going to say this once.” He turns and fires at a tree, burning it to ash, then turns back to face the reporters, voice a low drawl. “No. Comment.”

 

At his unspoken threat, everyone takes a step back. He rolls his eyes with a huff. “The kid and I will _never_ have a comment for you about anything. Ever. So, get out of here and don’t come back.”

 

The reporters and cameraman nod after a tense second of hesitation and turn to leave. Iron Man takes a deep breath as soon as they’re gone and lowers his hands, turns toward Peter.

 

“I need your help, kiddo. They damaged my suit, so I don’t think I can get to my lab to fix it. You’ll have to help me get there and do repairs.”

 

Peter gasps, brows furrowing. “B-But you said—”

 

Iron Man lets out a cross between a groan and a grunt, allowing Peter to step closer. “Yeah. I know what I said, but this is kind of an emergency, so just ignore that and help me.”

 

Peter puts the man’s arm around his shoulders, and his own arm around the man’s metallic waist and walks with him back into the building, going slow in case the man inside the suit is also injured.

 

“Thank you for helping me, sir,” the thirteen-year-old whispers after they get inside and are walking toward the open elevator, making sure to keep his feet out of the way of the metal man’s stumbling boots.

 

Tony laughs a little, the sound much warmer than before. “Yeah, you’re welcome, kiddo.”

 

Peter smiles as the elevator doors close around them, feeling a faint shimmer of hope fizzle in his bones for the first time in a long while. Maybe everything will be okay now.

 

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and don't forget to review! :D


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